Insomnia
by SuddenlySullen
Summary: The Joker is up late at night watching Harley sleep. She wakes up and decides to get a little frisky.


He lay in bed unable to sleep, as usual, listening to his kitten purring beside him. Keeping himself focused on the steady rise and fall of her chest was almost as close as he ever came to true relaxation. It never ceased to amaze him that after all he had done to her, she still slept so soundly beside him. These days, the only time she was without her trademark makeup was when she was locked in with him. He had trained her well, to hide her face from the outside world. The less they knew about them, the less they had to use against them. Of course, everyone knew her.

He smiled at the thought of everything she used to be. Doctor Harleen Quinzel. Pulling her into his world had been easier than he thought it would be. A few well placed winks and an almost-genuine smile here and there had wrapped her around his fingers. Not long after that, he had wrapped those fingers around her throat for the first time.

The first time he had hurt her, she really thought he might kill her. Some days, he could still see that same terror in those big baby blues when he was particularly angry with her. Those were the days he fucked her harder than any other time. Something about seeing her honestly fearing for her life got his engines started like nothing else ever could. Something about her, in general, got his engines started like nothing else. Maybe she was born that way, maybe he had made her into his perfect little sex kitten. He wasn't sure anymore which had come first and he didn't particularly care.

They both knew as well as everyone else in Gotham that he as good as owned her. No matter what happened she would always find her sorry way back to him. Anywhere she went, he would find her. Keeping his girl from him would be like keeping warmth from the sun. Even the big bad bat knew, on some level, that she needed to be with him. Eventually he would explode and take everyone else with him if he didn't have her back. She was the only thing standing between him and the rest of the world. They knew well enough that they wanted to keep it that way.

As his possessive train of thought started to run away with him, getting him worked up about imaginary impossibilities, it was like she could sense his unsettledness. Her pale little frame rolled into his. Her nude face nestled into his chest and she let out a contented sigh. Hands so small, but so confident wrapped themselves around him. His mind immediately came back to her.

So often he found himself grounded by her, he wondered what he had ever done before her. Her hips rolled against his own and a slight smile spread across her face. Looking down at her, he was almost unsure if she were still sleeping or not until her eyes opened and he saw a familiar sparkle in them; The special glimmer that she only got when she was being particularly foxy.

"You should be sleeping, my little minx," he grinned as he scolded her.

"Can't blame me. You were thinkin' so loud, ya woke me up," she giggled slightly, kissing his jawline. Her voice wrapped around him, ribbons of bright red and happiness.

"Pumpkin pie," he groaned, his own voice pulsing a deep, jagged purple as it sliced through the room, "you know what you do to me."

His hands found their way to her hips, rolling so that she sat perched on top of him. Her silky nightgown fell around both their hips and through the fabric of his own silk boxer shorts he could feel the wetness between her thighs. Looking her up and down, he was reminded of how proud he was of the woman he had turned her into.

"Baby girl, you know how Daddy gets when you come to bed without panties on."

Her soft giggle danced around the room, a wash of red in the darkness. The way her voice swam around him had been one of the first things he fell in love with about her. Instead of strangling him or chasing him, her voice pooled around him like a curtain of safety. His hands gripped her hips tightly as she rocked them back and forth over his own. When she finally couldn't take it anymore and leaned forward to kiss him, he used one hand to free his cock from his boxes, shuddering against the cold of the air around them.

She paused for a moment after their kiss broke, her eyes meeting his in a way that would drive him to manslaughter if she were anyone but herself. His hands slid to her thighs and guided her hips back down to meet his, pausing to savor the soft pink whimper she let out as his cock slid into her. Every time he fucked her, he wished he could show her the magnificent works of art they made together. To date, she was the only shrink that had worked that out about him - just one more thing he loved about her.

His eyes fixed on the ceiling, he watched as they painted the air with sharp purple lightning bolts and soft red pools, dripping all around them. Splatters of black intruded through their masterpiece every time he slapped her ass, but just as quickly they faded away and were replaced with her rippling chirps of both pleasure and pain.

He saw her orgasm before he felt it, a flowering fractal of chromatic beauty that he could only hope to one day be able to properly draw for her. He came with her, his untrimmed nails drawing blood from her hips and altering the shade of her voice just enough to perfectly match his own violet mountains as they erupted around her.

When her voice finally faltered, her body stilled, and he had long since gone quiet, she rolled back to his side and tugged his arm. Dutifully, he followed, resting his head on her chest as he had done so many times before. The first time had been before she was his Harley girl. He remembered his stolen affection from those days fondly. Pleasant thoughts of corruption plagued his mind as his eyes fell shut and the only sound he could see was the steady drumming of her heartbeat, a purple pendulum that he followed for as long as he could before slipping away into sleep.


End file.
